The Games That Play Us
by BilliMonroe
Summary: Bonnie made sure to take with her any pleasure that Damon had of draining tiny pubs. That didn't mean that he couldn't drain the witch across from him instead. Only Faye wasn't looking to be his victim. She, too, was looking for someone to punish.


**A/N: **This story is set about a month after _A Million to One_, so if you haven't read that story, you might want to. Although I've kept it simple enough that you don't have to. I want to thank everyone who read that story. Especially **RubyLily7**. Sorry for not responding to your review.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Especially not Damon Salvatore, but a girl can dream right. Now let's get with it, shall we?

THE GAMES THAT PLAY US

She'd chosen someone else. Fine. He could deal with that. He'd simply file it away with the only other woman who had ever gotten close enough to kill him with a single shot to the cold, blackened cardiac organ that was his lifeless heart without even breaking his skin. And yes, it hurt like a bitch, but at least she'd made it seem like the choice had been a hard one to make, that she hadn't been looking into his blue eyes for the last seven years and wishing that they were green. _At least she didn't lead me on for a hundred and forty-five fucking years, _he thought to himself as he slid into the corner booth of a dimly lit coffee shop right outside of Salem, Massachusetts.

What he really wanted to do was find a bar with an unlimited alcohol supply and drink until the clock struck half past who-gives-a-shit. But what would have been the point? Liquor did nothing for him except fill his brain with a substance even more bitter than his thoughts, and frankly, that's what they all thought he'd do. Stefan, Elena, and Bonnie all knew what would happen when you mix Damon Salvatore with despair. The little witch had even dreamed about it, saw him draining the place dry until what was behind the bar just didn't cut it anymore and he moved on to bartenders instead. It was for that reason alone that he couldn't drown his sorrows in an amber colored paradise, because that's what Bonnie thought he'd do, and he didn't want to be anywhere near her thoughts at the moment.

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Faye Chamberlain flipped her wild, raven-black hair behind her bare shoulders and held her long red fingernails up to her face as if she were admiring their perfection. In reality though, she was seething and scoping out her options, looking for just the right person who would submit to her will like old times. Only tonight, she wasn't just looking for a cheap lay. She was looking for someone to punish.

_Too young_, she waved away the idea of inviting a young brunette with chin-length hair to come sit with her. It wasn't that he wasn't attractive, which was a strict requirement in her book of seduction, but honestly, with his leather jacket, ripped jeans, and scowl, he looked just a little too much like Nick Armstrong. The same Nick Armstrong who used to be "her Nicky" until that little bitch Cassie Blake stole both him and their coven away with that I'm-so-shy, everyone-is-picking-on-me, woe-is-me act. It made her sick to her stomach just thinking about how long she'd dreamed of being the leader of her coven, how hard she'd worked to con her way to the six votes needed to win the coveted title from her perfect cousin Diana, just to wind up sharing it with both said cousin and some new girl who didn't know a talisman from a grimoire.

Fully dismissing the boy, her golden cat eyes that always seemed to be hiding something sinister scanned the sparse room until they landed upon a man in his late thirties that Faye knew as Mr. Humphries. _Not half bad, _she mused, _if you like middle aged English teachers who can only get it up by checking out his underage female students. _Mr. Humphries sipped his low-fat latte in an oversized red chair, reading a newspaper called the _New Salem Periodical _in peace without the slightest idea that his most dangerous student was mentally—and quite unfairly, might I add—sizing him up as a perverted pedophile with a penchant for pretty little liars. But Mr. Humphries was nothing like that. He was a mild-looking man with a slightly graying beard who wanted nothing more than to teach his class and avoid the truth about New Salem High's mysterious "in crowd." His only real crime was crossing Faye's line of vision when she'd just sworn off of older men. After all, Nick may have told her where to go and how to get there when the whole war with Black John was over, but Black John had literally made her change everything about herself: hairstyle, nail color, clothes, and all. And for what? Just so he'd give her the power she so desperately craved? _Big disappointment he turned out to be! _And Faye hated disappointment. That's why someone had to pay. Someone like…

Her head swiveled around to a man sitting in a dark booth at the back of the coffee shop. She took in the coldness of his steal blue eyes, the bite in his soft lips, and the strength in those slender hands, and saw in those features a man who had undoubtedly sent women to their undoing. He just oozed danger, and not the small town kind whose idea of destruction consisted of motorcycles and spray paint like her friend Debora, but real danger. Granted, he probably wasn't a 400 year old witch with the power to remove both the will of humanity and her lacy red boy shorts with just one snap of his fingers, but the man whose hair—and soul—rivaled hers in darkness gave off a type of unhinged power that reveled in the evil it possessed. She wondered if he'd feel remorse when she turned that evil back upon him. Or if he was sadistic enough to revere it just the same. _No, worries, _she pushed the thought aside, _I'll find out soon enough._

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Now little did the cat-eyed vixen know, Damon had been watching her as well. After all, he could practically smell the witchcraft in her blood, hidden there beneath the heavy scent of vanilla that made his mouth water profusely. He shifted in his seat around a rock hard crotch that threatened to burst from his pants in the same way his fangs pushed at his gums. Bonnie had made sure to take with her any pleasure he'd had of draining tiny pubs. That didn't mean; however, that he couldn't drain tiny witches instead. Because, he'd tried. He'd really fucking given his all to be the man that she'd demanded yet doubted he could actually be. One who jumped through hoops and bounds just to cage what Bonnie hated and Katherine had elated: his truly monstrous side. And still, it hadn't been enough. He hadn't been enough. But all that would change. Now that he was back to his old self— his demented, dangerous, and love-hating self—more or less, he would make damn sure that he would never again be another woman's second choice. Or so help him, it would be the last choice that she ever made. It was a sentiment that Faye had detected in him from the very moment their eyes met and reciprocated very well.

That's why Damon wasn't surprised when, a second later, an unsuspecting waitress placed a thick red drink in front of him courtesy of the fiery enchantress even though fresh tap wasn't on the café's menu. After all, a witch's senses of perception were almost as strong as that of a vampire's. If he had sniffed her out of the crowd, then she had undoubtedly sensed his sanguine needs as soon as he'd walked in. And he did have those needs. He hadn't eaten since Bonnie left. But he most certainly wasn't going to indulge in the tempting glass of 98.6. If he had learned only one thing from his Judgie, it was that witches were very leery of sharing their veins. _Unless it was to a goddamned colt-wielding hunter, _he squeezed the glass until it cracked around the edges and snapped him back to reality where he was slowly inching the liquid up to his lips, putting on the act of drinking. Later, he would pretend to feel the effects of her spell long enough to get her alone and do unto her what he wished that she would do to him: suck her dry.

"Mind if I sit here?" She asked, round hips already filling the seat as if he'd said yes. Now that she was closer, Damon had the pleasure—or misfortune, depending on who got their way tonight—of taking her all in. She was a breath-taking mixture of his last two exes put together with Katherine's long onyx hair and creamy complexion that contrasted perfectly with her striking gold eyes in the same way that Bonnie's lime green orbs pierced through her caramel skin. But she had her own characteristics as well that made her stand out amongst the bland crowd of scrapbook-constructing caffeine addicts. For instance, she had a way about her that seemed to still the air, and company, around her. All eyes were on her as she sat down in front of deadly stranger, watching with shallow breaths as the waitress placed a foamy glass of hot pumpkin cider in front of her. Damon didn't miss the tight, forced smile that their server issued the witch as she asked whether she could get the girl anything else. Or the obvious relief in her eyes when Faye dismissed her with a lazy wave of her hand. Faye then leaned in closer to Damon, large ruby talisman dangling from a white gold chain between her cleavage, and whispered, "The service here is a little intrusive without the right…motivation. Especially for newcomers such as yourself."

"What gave me away?" Damon leaned back and smirked at her, intent upon showing as little interest as possible, and that included speaking intermittently and ignoring the glowing red amulet falling like a giant drop of blood between her breasts.

Her tongue darted between a set of plump red lips to lick a thin trail of foam from the cinnamon stick in her fingers. "Armani," she replied matter-of-factly, "it stands out despite how you've kept yourself hidden away. As does the thirst for scotch lingering on your tongue."

"And here I thought it was my undeniable charm and irresistibility that caught your attention." The words were cocky but lacked his signature sarcasm. Almost as if they weren't true. Because he didn't believe them anymore.

Still, she ignored his melancholy temperament. "Most of the people in this town are dull little Puritans, so afraid of the wicked desires that only liquor can expose that they take to the tedium of sobriety. Both alcoholic and…otherwise." Her tone was insinuating on the word "otherwise" as if what she were suggesting was naughtier than alcoholic inebriation.

Damon barely caught her hint. "Sobriety sucks!" He agreed, momentarily letting his mind wander to darker thoughts of the woman who had stolen his taste for scotch. Just two months ago, he was driving away from Mystic Falls' only college, Lockwood University, with Bonnie pretending not to enjoy his company from the false safety of his passenger seat. Now, January had brought on a brand new year as well as a fresh sense of sadness that was overwhelming because her damned scent still lingered in his clothes. Some nights, he'd even wake up tangled in the fine Egyptian cotton sheets of whatever five-star hotel that he'd compelled his way into and swear that it was the green-eyed femme fatale that he was holding, not a pillow, because her aroma was so firmly imbedded into his skin. On his lips. In his mind. But he tried to shake her off, and focus his attention back onto the golden-eyed girl sipping her drink. _Bonnie_. Drink. Oh God, how he needed a drink!

"It presents stimulating challenges," she compared the advantages of drunkenness to compulsion, "but I prefer a stronger stimulant. You know what they say," she detached the jewel from its chain, showcasing its duel function as a vial and poured a rich liquid that smelled as strong as it was dark, "too much challenge can be painful." At this admission, her long fingers trailed a letter "F" into the cider's foam until exploded from the cup in red hot flames the way a flambé would. Both the jewel and her eyes grew more iridescent; warmer. The fire to his ice. Now he was intrigued.

"Well, I am a firm believer that pain can be pleasure," Damon smiled at her, using charm he didn't even know he still possessed. When she bit her lip, he mentally congratulated himself on yet another job well done. _Damn, I'm good, _he thought. If only he knew what he was getting himself into.

Faye just sat there and smiled, because, unlike him, she knew exactly what he was about to fall prey to. _And it will be my pleasure to cause your pain._

They talked like this for a while. Until the pale sky melted into a deeper shade of blue, then burned black at the edges. They talked until all of the patrons had gone home, leaving the frightened employees to debate whether to inform the dangerous couple that it was well-past closing time. They even talked on the ride back to his hotel room with their mouths pressed close, hands spread, gripping clothes.

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In the moonlight streaming from the balcony's French doors, Damon held Faye's ample D-cups in his hands, growing harder at the sound of her throaty growl rumbling against his mouth. He couldn't wait until that slender throat of hers was muffled against his teeth, and if it weren't for the amount of force that she was using to free the hardness in his Armani slacks, he would have buried his fangs in the girls' carotid artery until her neck snapped. His pants fell to the ground with a final, satisfying thump; there was no foreplay necessary. Their evil plans for one another had been working them into a frenzy all evening, and Faye had finally had enough of their stalling. With an extravagant amount of force, even for a witch of her caliber, she pushed the vampire onto the rickety mattress, grabbed his silky hair with rough fingers, and positioned her hips strategically above his erection. He bucked twice in order to connect them, and gain control of the situation, but she remained her stance by meeting his movements with a little jump of her own that was designed to drive him crazy with unsatisfied lust.

Her fingers tightened around the strands in his scalp. "Tell me what you want, vampire," Faye rasped down at him. A weaker man would have come right then and there, no contact necessary, in response to her teasing hip movements and her hot breath grumbling in his ear. But all it was doing to Damon was pissing him off. Nobody held out on him. No. Fucking. Body.

Just as he made a move to grab her hips and reverse them, she seized his hands above his head with the invisible constraints of her mind. "Not until I say so. Or rather, not until _you _say so. Tell me," she eased down onto him, careful only to slide herself back and forth on top of him without letting him slide inside her, and purred deeply in his ear, "what is it that you_ really _want? Is it this?" His crotch hitched in response to the soft kiss placed at hollow of his ear. "Perhaps it's this." Her hands danced on his inner thigh at the same time that her tiny nips traced a path down his neck. "Or maybe, it's this." At the base of his throat, she raked her teeth over the cool skin and clamped down. Hard enough to break the skin. Hard enough to bleed. He gasped in surprise at the blood gleaming on her tongue, so out of place on a witch.

Usually it was him who was forging the path from desire to dinner; the last time he'd been on this side of the equation had been in 1864. He certainly hadn't missed it seeing as how much it reminded him of his slutty vampire ex. But Faye presented a good case as to why he should have missed it, or at least, _would _have missed it if her body wasn't as warm as Bonnie's.

And that's exactly what he was thinking when the fuzzy feeling in his mind started to wipe away any will that wasn't Faye's. Her words danced off the room's darkness. _Tell me what you want vampire. Tell me what it is that you _really _want. _"What I want is," he felt the words being pulled from his lips even as he was trying desperately to reign them back in. He wanted to rip through the muscles in this witch's flesh. No. He wanted to take back the "I don't deserve you remark" that had solidified Bonnie's leaving with that ghost-busting hunter, and fight for her the way that she deserved to be fought for. The way he'd fought for Katherine. No! What he really wanted was… "to be put first for a change."

Faye sat back so that she could judge the truthfulness in his eyes. A kinder woman would have abandoned her plan at the sight of the pain in his eyes. But of all the things that Faye had been rightfully called, sympathetic had never been one of them. She did a good job of portraying someone with a heart though, stroking his hair and telling him that she could put an end to his misery, that she could abolish his heartache. She pulled a stake from the garter attached to her thigh. "Drive this stake deep into your chest until it pierces your heart." The sweetness of her voice matched her expression's innocence. It was as if she had suggested that he lie in bed with a box of tissues and sad music playing on the radio until he felt less like dying all over again. Unfortunately, the potion coursing through his veins via the bite in his neck was battling with another potion. One that stuck to him with something stronger that Damon didn't even know was in him. The stronger potion beat hers out by a mile, letting him see past her compulsion and into her blackened soul. She had tried to play him. And now, he was going to take that splinter of wood and…

Faye's eyes widened in surprise when the pine connected with her own heart. The last words she heard before her breathing stopped was, "But what I really want, is for this to be a message to all women. Damon Salvatore is back." Her eyes closed on the sight of him sucking her blood off each of his fingers.

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The next morning, Damon strolled into his ancestral home feeling rejuvenated and semi-satisfied. And why should he not? He had completed his mission to drain a witch, and managed to gain some of her powers in the process. For instance, he could tell that Rose, who had cooked for him, or rather killed for him, was hiding something from him, not only by stench floating around her—or was that the decomposing blond on the table between them?—but by the visions of white envelopes hitting him from all angles. He knew exactly who it was from and he sighed. _So much for the "Oh what a beautiful morning" bit, _the blood in his stomach grew heavier and heavier, _although maybe if I don't say anything, Rose will mind her own fucking business and pretend that she wasn't rifling through my unwanted mail. _

Rose had never liked Bonnie anyway. Possibly because she'd always liked Damon. Which was why he was surprised when she handed him the letter. He held the jaggedly ripped envelope in his hands as if it were a precious baby bird injured from a fall. It was contained no return address. Just his name and place of residence. He pressed the paper up to his nose and inhaled flowers and fire. It smelled just like her. Rose rolled her eyes. "I'll give you two a moment."

He didn't want to read it. What if it said that she wanted to come home? He'd told her never to come back to him, because he wouldn't let her go a second time. But in reality the real reason that he didn't want her back was because he didn't want her to find out how easily she'd ripped his heart out. And how quickly he'd risk her doing it again by letting her return to his life. But then again, what if she wasn't coming home? What if, in addition to fucking that whisky-drinking dick of a hunter, she was marrying the ass-wipe as well? Or worse, pregnant with his stake-driving children?

Well then it really would feel as though she'd ripped his heart out all over again. Without even stepping foot in Mystic Falls. _Great, _he thought grabbing for the letter, _now I'm starting to sound like my Bambi-chewing, diary keeping younger brother. _If he wasn't careful, he'd do something he'd really regret, such as…hunting for squirrels.

Damon shuddered at the thought of soiling his expensive Italian loafer in the trenches of the woods and met Bonnie's loopy cursive writing:

**Damon,**

**You have no idea how badly I wish I didn't have to write this letter, that my nightmares didn't come true. But, well… **

**I saw your death the night we killed Klaus. Then I saw it again in my dreams at the hands of a dark witch. So I injected a protection potion into all of your blood bags before I left. It won't last you forever, but it will keep you from being compelled by any other vengeful witches. Or retaliation-seeking Originals.**

She closed the letter with a pink lip print above her P.S.

**I needed you for seven years. But I'll love you forever. -Bonnie **

He was furious! Not at Bonnie, per se. More at himself. He should have been satisfied to finally have her say that she needed him. Yet now that she had said it, all he really wanted was, her there, refusing to utter those words. He threw the letter into the fireplace.

"Why did you give me this?" Damon could barely conceal the rage in his voice.

Rose gazed backed at him and simply said, "Because the witch is not the only one who loves you." Then, she crossed the threshold of the house, momentarily stepping outside in search of the paper before stomping back to the dining room table.

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A couple states over, Faye Chamberlain didn't have that problem. Because she had awakened with a killer headache and skin that burned like fire in the sunny hotel room. She couldn't figure out exactly what was going on, but one thing was certain, the people inside her house—once she'd actually managed to get there at sundown—smelled delicious.

Luckily for them, she couldn't enter the home.


End file.
